Ihr Eisenkreuz
by Julchenawesomesauce
Summary: He's returned from war, but he's not going to forget the woman he left behind across an ocean, a love that should never have happened. Tie in to the story Across The Great Divide. World War II AU, human Canada/Matthew Williams and human FemPrussia/Julchen Beilschmidt.
1. Prologue

It was a beautiful thing to be home again.

For someone who has never been in the army, they cannot possibly understand the physical and emotional turmoil an army man goes through. Matthew Williams had been through it all. It had been three long years. A year and a half had been as a prisoner. What a long time to think that he might never see his homes again, both Canadian and American, that he'd never see his mother, that he'd never see Alfred and Emily again. There was no feeling like that of stepping off that ship onto the grounds of North America again, and to see his siblings searching the crowd for his face and the overwhelming joy on theirs once they saw him, safe and sound and limping towards them with the relief of a lifetime across his.

Coming home was everything he imagined it being.

He found himself in his old room for the time being, staying for a month or so before he left to return to Canada and began the search for a home and job there and started getting life back to normal. The war had uprooted him. He was going to need some time to just adjust to society again.

The first step was adjusting to a life in a home again. No longer was he restricted to a cell or camp or some tent on a beach or even to the steel confines of a carrier vessel. As he carried his trunk into his childhood room, he found himself stricken by it, more than anyone else could ever appreciate. While small, it was warm and comforting and filled with more splashes of friendly color than he could have remembered on the field, a place of such depressing greys and browns and greens one would feel their skin taking on the tones ever so slowly. The symbols of patriotism were everywhere, filling his room with stars and stripes and maple leaves and the like. Upon opening his closet, he rediscovered the joys of casual and comfortable clothing, even a little sense of satisfaction seeing the more formal wares. Having a choice in his ensemble was yet another little joy you don't know you have until it's gone. Another was being able to mill around his room and arrange his possessions as he wished, just having possessions worth displaying or otherwise was a selfish pleasure after years of everyone getting just exactly their share of the same everything. Even come his first dinner home, he was thrilled at the prospects of warm food and options and being able to eat as much as he desired. With the exceptions of the still implemented rations, of course. And taking into account the still voracious appetite of his brother. But still.

As wonderful as home was, reality still existed. Problems hadn't just vanished once Matthew had set foot on North American soil, something he was harshly reminded of upon stepping into his room after dinner to start nodding off to sleep (in a lovely permanent bed with a heavenly soft mattress and warm blankets and other luxuries). Upon stepping across the threshold onto his carpet, Matthew found himself greeted by a frowning Alfred, the blue-eyed man holding up a small silver and black object, confusion, concern and maybe a little hint of scorn marring his face.

"Matt. Mind explaining this?"

Alfred uncurled his fingers from the object a little more, making its form more visible to the brother in the doorway. A small black cross, thick and outlined with silver, hung from a pin of an outstretched eagle, with its wingspan long and the color of wrought iron. It was a war decoration. Not uncommon for a soldier returning from war. But perhaps a bit unusual to be found in the possession of a Canadian soldier, since the eagle and cross was of German nationality.

It took a moment for the realization of what he held to hit Matthew. His eyes opened with shock and sadness flitting quickly across his eyes before it settled on mild anger, like what his brother had found meant nothing to him. He was annoyed for a different reason. He took a quick step forward, glaring at Alfred with a frown. "What are you even doing in my room, Al?" he asked in quiet annoyance.

Alfred was never one to like people evading his questions. "Seriously, Mattie. What is this? This is German, right?" He tilted his head, trying to think of an explanation. "What is it, like, a souvenir from a kill or something?" he offered, thinking it wouldn't be so bad like that. Maybe his brother had killed a high ranking Nazi and he wanted something to prove it. It's not like Alfred wouldn't have done that. He let an awkward grin creep onto his face, hoping that was it. "Is that it, dude? Tell me that's it. Why didn't you tell me, that sounds sweet!" he continued, getting already worked up over such a badass story his brother must have to tell him!

He didn't expect the somewhat weak punch to the stomach he got, more of a distraction as Matthew plucked the medal out of his hands and stepped back quickly again, tucking the medal into a visible corner of his bookshelf. His face was stony with repressed frustration. His brother didn't understand anything, not after his soul mate came to him so easily, that little English blonde he had made a fool out of himself over. Good for them, but he didn't understand at all and how dare he say this was a kill trophy-

"Maaaaaaatt, what was that for?" Alfred whined from where he was pitched over slightly in exaggerated pain.

"Please, I didn't hit you that hard," Matthew muttered, turning back to him with his hands in his pockets. "Seriously though. If you could get out of my room, that'd be great."

"But Matt," Alfred continued to protest, lifting his head and looking all over the room when he wasn't giving his brother the puppy eyes. He soon found the medal again and his face grew serious once more. "What's that from? You could get in trouble for that, you know," he told him, like Matt didn't already know he could. "Especially if it's not a kill trophy-"

"It's not a trophy," Matthew eventually spat out, so tired of hearing his brother imply that. Hearing his brother imply that he had killed the soldier it came from, that he was happy and proud that they were dead…

"Then why do you have it?" Alfred pressed again, leaning against the desk, clearly not ready to go anywhere until he got his answer. The American could be stubborn like that.

Matthew sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. He really didn't want to tell a soul. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to, especially not so soon. Not when he still needed the time to put himself together again. And again, his brother wouldn't understand. No one would understand. It was supposed to be his secret, his burden to bear.

But how was no one ever supposed to find out? It wasn't like the signs weren't there. Matthew's face always held masked emotions, but the marks of hollowness and sorrow must have been entrenched in his skin. It wouldn't have taken long anyway for his family to decide something was wrong, despite how quiet he already was, even though it'd take even longer for them to know it wasn't just the toll the war had taken on him, it was loss even greater and more personal. Someone would have noticed the medal eventually as well and asked a similar question. It wasn't like Matthew could bear to hide that. Other people could have jumped to much harsher conclusions. And here Alfred was, ready to listen.

"Matt?"

He looked up at Alfred though his fingers, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He took a long and longing glance at the medal, flashes of so many emotions running through his eyes. The sorrow and pain, suffering and anger, frustration and intense love.

"I got it from a guard… she looked like hell herself…"


	2. Vernehmung

Vernehmung

"Aufseherin Beilschmidt?"

A slender young woman with long silver hair was escorted into an office. Red lips, red eyes, red swastika adorning her arm. She saluted the officer in front of her. "Sie fragten mich, Kommandant?" (You asked for me, commander?)

"Sie werden zugewiesen." (You are being reassigned.) The commander flipped through some papers on his desk. "Wir haben gerade eine Schiffsladung von Kriegsgefangenen. Ich verstehe Sie ein besonderes Talent zum Verhör haben. Ab sofort werden Sie interviewen unserer neuen Gefangenen. Sie haben ein für Sie bereit, wie wir sprechen." (We just got a shipload of POWs. I understand you have a special talent for interrogation. Starting now, you will be interviewing our new prisoners. You have one waiting for you as we speak.)

"Natürlich, Sir." (Of course, sir.) Julchen nodded, being dismissed and sent down the hall of the SS building in the camp to her first case. POW number 64. She was directed to the room, was given the key, and stepped inside, locking the door behind her as she gazed over her first assignment, a young, somewhat injured looking young man. She sat down across from him silently, a slight smirk crossing her face. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Or do you only speak English?" she asked him in a heavily accented voice.

Her assignment raised his head slightly from across the table. She continued to make note of his features. A young man like all the others, no more than twenty-two, if that. Caucasian. He was a fairly thin and pale thing, although Julchen had no right to make judgment calls on someone's weight or skin color, underweight albino that she was. What else was there about him? Wavy hair the color of light spun gold down to his shoulders and cracked silver glasses framing downcast eyes. One odd little curled lock of hair off to the side. Face and jaw structure reminiscent of French lineage. Overall a pretty little thing. He looked like he was better suited to being at home, watching from the sidelines rather than being out here in the middle of a veritable Hell on Earth. There were dangerous things out here, didn't he know? Like her.

Ah well. War made fools out of people. Unless they were like her, brutal minded individuals with a taste for dominance. This was her prime.

She flipped over a notepad with a pen in the side and smiled sharply up at him. He dropped his head away from her gaze, but she started anyway. "You do speak, right? Doubt zhey vould let you in die Heer if you couldn't talk. Zhen again, ve like zhem to just do vhat zhey're told around here, so maybe silence isn't so bad." She continued on for a moment, conceited girl as she was just loved to hear herself talk. It wasn't her fault that she was blessed with such a sexy voice. But she wasn't about to lose his attention, so she caught herself after a moment. "But being silent von't help you here," she warned, her voice dropping to a tone a little more threatening. "Tell me vhat I vant to know, unt zhis could go so smoothly. A pretty little zhing like you doesn't vant to be hurt more zhan you already are," she mentioned, peering to the side of the table to take a glance at his injured leg. A look at the information she was given on this one in her notepad told her that he was found about a kilometer from a crashed Allied plane. Lucky bastard must have pulled eject in time to save his life, though not soon enough to save all the bones in his leg. Ah well. He was banged up, but nothing he was going to die from. Still though… she reached out to poke his leg with a steel toed boot. "Ouch," she muttered with some fake sympathetic undertones. She shook her head and returned her attention to his face. To his credit, his face showed little pain or aggression at being prodded. Though that only made her life more difficult. Julchen sighed, deciding to get on with this. She prodded his leg again, a little harder this time. "Can you talk? Answer me."

Her prodding earned a small flinch as his leg pulled back slightly from hers. Good, the piece of meat over here was alive somehow. She didn't like losing attention. He didn't move his head but she could have sworn she heard a little mutter from him. It was too quiet to hear though and she went for his leg yet again.

"English," she finally heard him mutter. He had a very soft voice, unlike most military men, but he was like a little china doll already anyway, so it was fitting. But good, he could hear her and speak and everything. Awesome.

"Vas zhat so hard?" Julchen purred now, retracting her heel. Now that she had a response, she could get on with this. "Let's get zhe bullshit out of zhe vay. Being uncooperative von't help you here. Unt it vont help zhe ozher scum ve picked up, so just go vith it, alright?"

More silence. Was the kid capable of doing anything other than sit like a log? Honestly, how desperate the Americans must have been for recruits to take this kid. Besides, she tended to take silence as a sign of defiance. She frowned, scribbling down 'bisher unkooperativ' (so far uncooperative) onto her notepad. "Verdammt Amerikaner…" she muttered.

"Canadian."

Julchen looked up, surprised by the sound of his voice, slightly stronger than a moment ago. His position hadn't changed, but he had definitely spoken. And without a question too.

"Vhat vas zhat?" she asked, not sure if she should hope for a response. But if she got one, that was a foot in the door for her. A possible trigger, maybe.

"I'm Canadian."

She was right. There it was, a trigger. With a slight smile, she scribbled another note down, 'Reaktion auf seine Nationalität'. "Fine zhen. Verdammt Kanadier," she offered with a smirk.

This might be the way in she was looking for. Let's start there. "So. Canadian unt not American, ja? Vhat division?"

No response. And still not looking at her. Gah. He was going to make this a pain in the ass, wasn't he? Silent and strong and all that shit, was that his survival tactic here? The sooner he learnt that that wasn't going to work, the better. Julchen wasn't known for her patience.

There was a loud clattering on the steel table as Julchen dropped her clipboard down suddenly, echoing painfully in the small, cold room, and the officer stood up quickly and leaned over the table towards him. She dropped her head near his to speak, the sultry tone gone and replaced with a low, coarse snarl of annoyance. "Listen up, you little bastard, you're gonna talk ein vay or zhe ozher. For you to resist is pointless. I vant some cooperation from you unt I am going to get it if I need to break your spine to get vhat I need from you, do you hear me?" she spat.

The goddamn man still wasn't moving, though she did note out of the corner of her eye one hand in a fist, twitching slightly. But he still wouldn't say anything more. He was dead set on only speaking when he wanted. Julchen grit her teeth, reaching out a hand to roughly grab his chin. "Schau mich an, wenn ich mit dir rede!" (Look at me when I'm talking to you!) she shouted, jerking his head to meet the blood-red slits of her eyes.

Fuck.

Julchen was aware the kid possessed some fragile beauty unbefitting a combat uniform, but she finally saw all of his face. The smooth, young skin, even under besmudged dirt, and his eyes. And she had always thought hers were unique. Normally the red in her reflection was the only color she saw out here, so when was the last time she had seen a flash of purple like that? Years? Maybe. Even before, the purples she had seen were never such a gorgeous hue as his, a color akin to twilight in the summer, with all the blues and violets subtly blended as one and forever shifting their pigments.

He didn't speak and Julchen didn't expect him too, but he held her gaze. Those breathtaking orbs of his definitely held glimmers of defiance, subtle, but still there. She was wrong, it seemed. He held more strength than it would seem.

She dropped his head, but he decided to not tear his gaze away. It was up to Julchen to finally turn away, sitting herself down to pick up her clipboard. She took the moment to gather herself again after her outburst, needing to regain some control of herself. She held her own head up again to look at him once more, and his eyes had already slipped away, downcast, dull and barely visible to her now. She took a breath to finish steadying herself.

"I hope you understand me. I don't make life easy for zhose who defy me."

With that she stood, taking her clipboard and heading to the door to call for someone to get rid of this one for the day and get her the next assignment. She made a special order that she meet with this prisoner 64 the following day. "Er werde einige Zeit dauern," (He's going to take some time,) she mentioned to the next guard.

She left the hallway while they escorted the blond out and looked at the few notes she had taken from him. All she really had gotten was that he was from a different division, Canadian, right? Well, they didn't get a lot of those. Maybe he would have something different to tell them. A strategy or something that they wouldn't have heard about from the Americans or the British. It was certainly worth the effort if she managed to beat something out of him. It seemed she certainly was going to have to resort to that, already facing a stubborn bastard.

But that was the fun of it, was it not?

She walked into her next assignment's room already refreshed and ready to go at one new thought. He didn't look like much physically, but that boy was strong. She saw it in those pretty eyes of his. He was going to put up a passive fight, more of a battle of endurance, if you will. His patience and strength against her drive and tactics. This was going to be fun, for one of them, at least.

A challenge like him was welcome once in a while. It made it so much more satisfying when she finally broke them.


End file.
